


Objects Within a Magnetic Field

by ijemanja



Category: Sanctuary (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-20
Updated: 2011-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-27 14:56:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/297066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ijemanja/pseuds/ijemanja
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following the episode 'Sleepers'. The razor stuck to his face would be amusing if not for everything else. (Actually, it's still pretty amusing.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Objects Within a Magnetic Field

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ElegantPi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElegantPi/gifts).



> An episode addition for 'Sleepers', but actually inspired by that one line in 'Trail of Blood'.

She checked the wine cellar first, the most logical place to start.

Nikola hadn't been seen since late the previous night, when he had shuffled off to bed rather drunk and tired and human for the first time in over a century.

She wasn't too worried that he hadn't shown himself; he wasn't the type to do himself an injury, and how much trouble could one ex-vampire with surprising new magnetic powers get into, really? He was probably just sulking.

On the other hand, the thought of Nikola Tesla, depressed and potentially reckless, somewhere in her house, alone and unsupervised, was worrying in itself, ex-vampire or no.

As late afternoon drew around and still no sign, Helen took herself out of her office and began a quick search of all the likely places. Starting with the cellar, naturally, but when that proved unfruitful, she tried the library, the laboratories, and Henry's workroom. Finally, she went up to the guest room Nikola had adopted when it seemed he would be staying a day or two at least during recent events.

She tapped lightly on the door and, upon receiving no response, tried the handle - it turned, the door unlocked. He was probably sleeping off last night's indulgence, his system unused to the effects of alcohol, or indeed regular sleep patterns. She felt the need to check on him in any case, and pushed the door open.

She found a quiet, empty room, lit by warm afternoon light coming through the half-closed curtains. The bed showed signs of use but, like the rest of the room, was unoccupied.

It occurred to her then that he might not be in the house at all, that he may have slipped out during the early hours and gone. She would have to check the security logs to confirm it.

She was about to turn and go when she heard a voice.

"Damn it! Oh, son of a bitch."

The voice was coming from the bathroom, the door standing ajar. She followed the sound of the cursing, peering warily around the edge of the door.

"Your mother was one of those plastic things. For women. _Lilac scented._ "

She could see Nikola's back, and his reflection in the mirror. He was shaving, obviously, with shaving soap lathered on his face. But he appeared to be having some trouble with the process.

This might have had something to do with the straight razor stuck to his cheek. He was attempting to pry it off without much luck.

"Oh dear," she said.

He whirled round as she stepped over the threshold into the bathroom. He spread his hands. The razor didn't budge. "Go ahead. Laugh," he said, if slightly too late, since of course she already was laughing. "Always glad to entertain," he snapped.

Her presence - or possibly her amusement - must have acted as motivator, however, because on his next attempt he was able to dislodge the razor from his skin. He gave it a look of intense disdain and set it aside.

Her laughter trailed off in a wince, seeing blood beading where the blade had cut him. "Ah, unforeseen consequences. No gift without a curse."

"Sure," he said, turning back to the mirror and dabbing at the small nick on his cheek, "it's all fun and games until someone cuts his own throat. Apparently I can control the magnetic field, or I can shave without filleting myself. Not both."

She considered for a moment. "Control the field, then." She reached past him to take the razor.

He turned back once more, eyebrows raised. "An interesting development. Do you know how to use one of those?"

"We'll see." She went to demonstrate, but paused, razor aloft. "If you would stop flinching? Unless you want to give facial hair another shot -"

"Should I?"

"Good heavens, no."

"You like me just the way I am. How touching. All right." He spread his hands and inclined his face just so. "Be gentle."

She stepped closer and laid a hand on his shoulder, steadying him as he sat back slightly against the counter behind him. His eyes watched her from the short distance away as she set the razor's edge to his skin. She drew it cleanly across his cheek, leaving a smooth path in the lather. She might have been self-conscious at the close attention, but it was Nikola and he would have enjoyed it too much, so she merely focused on not cutting him. If she did she would never hear the end of it.

Wiping the blade off, she went back for the next swipe but felt a sudden tug on the razor in her hand. "Nikola, focus," she snapped, holding it away from him with an effort.

He blinked and the magnetic force pulling at the razor vanished.

He grinned. "We may be working at cross-purposes here. You're very distracting."

"You like being in control," she said. "Right now, you're struggling, but I doubt mastering this new ability is beyond you."

"Kick me when I'm down."

"Appealing to your ego," she countered. "It's never failed before."

" _Struggling_ ," he muttered sourly, barely even seeming to notice as she stilled his head with a finger under his chin, and took to him with the razor again.

"I'm not surprised," she said, "think what you were like after Edison's chair. For two weeks you were shorting electrical equipment everywhere you went. I remember banning you from the laboratory until you were less of a menace."

When she went to wipe the blade again, he said, "Yes, when I started harbouring unnatural appetites and sprouting fangs after the source blood you were all curiosity; break a few light bulbs and suddenly I'm out on the street."

"It was 1889, we were practically blowing the bloody glass ourselves, thank you very much."

Smiling slightly, he sighed. "Fortunately the only danger here is to myself."

She lay her palm on his head, tilting it back so she could start on his throat. Carefully, she drew the razor under his jaw. Just beneath the skin his jugular beat its steady pulse - perhaps a little more rapidly than normal resting rate, she noted. Whether that was fear her hand would slip, or something else, she didn't like to speculate.

"We'll just have to hope nothing heavier than this razor is attracted to your head, or you'll be in line for a concussion," she said absently.

"I'd make some salacious comment about 'attraction'," he murmured back, staring at the ceiling, "but just now I'm more worried about opening a vein."

She had her answer then, but she noticed that at some point a hand had come to rest in a not particularly casual fashion on her hip, so she didn't altogether believe him.

She cleared her throat. "Well, you will insist on doing it the old-fashioned way. A disposable razor might be advisable for the time being." She finished there and let him lower his head.

"Why bother, when you're doing such an excellent job of it?" He gave her a toothy smile.

She waved the razor at him. "Just this once, while I'm feeling sympathetic."

The familiar hand at her hip squeezed slightly. "Only sympathetic?"

"Stop talking." She only had to do around his mouth, and needed it to be still.

She was a surgeon, of course, but with him staring at her like that he was lucky she didn't take off his lip. If only because he deserved it.

As it was, she finished in short time and set the razor down by the sink. And then thought better of it, and placed it securely in a drawer. Since he didn't seem about to do it, she took the towel and wiped by his ear where a bit of lather remained. Then, holding his chin, she turned his face this way and that - to judge her own work, or simply because she was enjoying touching him, either one.

Neither of them had spoken for about two entire minutes at that point, which might have been some kind of record. It was he who broke the silence.

"Helen." Taking her hand from his jaw, he brushed her knuckles against his smooth cheek. "You've always been particularly compelling with a deadly implement in your hand."

All other considerations aside - and with their lengthy history, there were a lot of them - she'd rarely _not_ enjoyed flirting with him. "Are you including yourself in that criteria?" she said.

"Innuendo, I love it." His smile brightened, and then faded just as quickly. "Not sure how deadly I am these days - danger only to myself and all that."

He was still holding her hand, but she placed her other firmly on his shoulder and told him, "You'll always be a menace in my eyes."

"You're sweet. Question: are you also as turned on as I am right now?"

"Doubtful. It is possible you aren't as seductive as you think you are."

"I'll take that challenge."

"It wasn't a -"

"I'll take it anyway."

He turned her hand in his, and his lips brushed the inside of her wrist. The kiss turned into a nibble, his eyes daring her to stop him.

"Really, I don't feel _that_ sorry for you," she said. But she didn't pull her arm from his light grasp.

"No, you're not the pitying type." He straightened, and his tone was suddenly less flirtatious, more sincere. "It's not pity, Helen. You're just feeling... lonely."

"Old."

"And don't we all? Rub it in why don't you."

He glared then as if she was the one at fault. As if she had been the one recklessly toying with the lives of those young people with absolutely no thought to consequences or ethics - or plain common sense for that matter.

He was impossible. And he was right.

She felt old and rather alone and drawn to him in a way she usually found easier to resist. It was just that he was never supposed to be someone she feared losing.

He was too close in that moment not to see all this playing over in her eyes, and when she took a breath to speak he abruptly dropped her hand.

"You may go," he said. "You've done your part, cared for your helpless friend. I've always admired your adherence to duty, Helen, dull as it is. But never mind, I shan't trouble you any further."

Nikola, of course, could banter in the middle of a raging typhoon, or while picking shrapnel from his own flesh - as she herself had witnessed first-hand on various occasions. And he had been doing admirably, but she knew him too well, and the previous day's events had cost him too much. He was brittle, would crack and shatter so easily - that was why he was pushing her away.

While they had been standing around in a not altogether spacious bathroom long enough that she would be perfectly happy to leave it, that was not why she rolled her eyes and said, "Good lord, Nikola, if you're going to become maudlin I shall certainly leave you to it."

She stepped away from him, turned to go, and was at the threshold when he caught her hand again.

And there it was, when he pulled her back round to meet his indignant gaze. Really, there was nothing like a little taunting - always worked wonders.

"Cold woman," he accused. "I don't know why I put up with you."

She squeezed his hand and, turning once more, led him out of the bathroom. "Not that cold," she said.


End file.
